


Life, Death, And How To Exist After Them Both

by zerogravityzerochill



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Resurrection, Sensory Deprivation, Sensory Overload, TommyInnit Gets a Hug (Video Blogging RPF), TommyInnit Needs a Hug (Video Blogging RPF)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-07
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-12 20:03:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29889834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zerogravityzerochill/pseuds/zerogravityzerochill
Summary: It's strange, having life shoved back into you by the one who took in the first place. It's strange for Tommy, learning how to feel things such as light and earth and breath and emotion after (months? years? eternities?) weeks of nothing but dark and void andterrorterrorterror. When people wonder about life after death, they probably don't mean it soliterally.He breathes in the fresh, wintery air (something that is still so new, so precious) and thinks,this is what comes after life and death.He will do his best to welcome it, he decides.-----Or,Tommy had always accepted that one day he would meet his end, but he never accepted what might happen if the end was not the end at all.Scars heal. So do broken hearts. Perhaps death does as well.
Relationships: Cara | CaptainPuffy & TommyInnit, Ranboo & TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Sam | Awesamdude & TommyInnit, Toby Smith | Tubbo & TommyInnit
Comments: 33
Kudos: 716
Collections: Chossi's fic reccomendations for the soul, Completed stories I've read, Crème de la crème of MCYT fics





	Life, Death, And How To Exist After Them Both

**Author's Note:**

> TW for: PTSD, sensory overload, panic attacks, mentions of c!Dream, resurrection, dying
> 
> Comments, kudos, keysmashes, and screaming are all welcome! <3
> 
> Come visit me @zero-gravity-zero-chill on Tumblr!

Tommy sobs when he sees the sun again.

It's been a spattering of days and indeterminate amounts of void-time, of _live die gasp for breath pray for mercy live die oh please gods make it stop_. Honestly, Tommy isn't lucid for most of it, only being aware of flinching from Wilbur's voice in his ears, to dry heaving on the cell floor, to waiting with shaking dread in his heart and blood in his teeth for the next death. 

He waits, in that terrifying limbo of breaking and already broken, until one day the impossible happens, and the lava inexplicably drops down and Dream is being thrown against the wall and there are arms around him, warm, strong, _safe_ arms, and Sam's voice coming from overhead, teary and devastated, telling him _I'm so sorry, oh gods Tommy I'm so sorry, just hold on, we're getting you out of here_.

Tommy doesn't say anything - he barely reacts at all, too caught up in the feeling of skin on skin and voice in his ears and the confirmation that _this is real, he's real, this is all real_ that he can't do much else other than mumble faintly and burrow deeper into a solid chest, chasing that warmth as Sam stands up and carries him away, away from the cell and away from Dream and away from-

( _Blood in his mouth and on the floors and walls, dead men talking in red-tinted tongues, the choking and the crying and the laughter and the_ **_god, a god am I_ ** _._ )

There is shuffling, a continued litany of mindless reassurances, the telltale sound of boots on obsidian and then-

Tommy is shutting his reflexively as they exit the portal, but that barely does anything at all, because all of a sudden there is _air_ \- real, breathing air, not the stale and tainted stuff from the cell - that ignites his skin like a field of budding flowers, and he gasps greedy breathes of it, heedless to the way it is both the best and worse sensation his lungs have experienced. There are voices, gasping and exclaiming and talking over each other that crescendo like waves in his ears, and Tommy whimpers as he brings his hands up to clamp over them. Sam sets him down on the ground, and there is grass - _grass!_ \- beneath his back and his head and his hands and Tommy nearly _wails_ at how it feels like a thousand feathers and a thousands knives all at the same time, toeing the line between _too much too much too much_ and _not enough not enough not enough_.

Then there's the crunch of someone kneeling down in the grass next to him, their voice shouting his name and indistinct, desperate pleas, and Tommy flinched back because _no, no, no, don't talk to him, talking is too much right now_. The person ignores that, though, because then there are hands reaching for him, reaching for his _face_ , cupping it in a way that is probably supposed to be comforting but instead it makes Tommy _scream_ because _no, no,_ **_no, NO- STOP STOP DREAM PLEASE STOP-_ **

He's still screaming, still lost in the throes of then and here and now, tears cutting paths through the blood still-encrusted on his cheeks, when he's finally able to process what the voice is actually saying. 

"Tommy- _Tommy!_ Tommy, please, _stop_ \- it's me, it's Tubbo-"

Tubbo.

Oh gods, _Tubbo_.

He's been screaming for Tubbo, for weeks now, in both life and death. His name has been gasped after every resurrection and begged in every dying plea and now- and now he's here, he's _here_ , and Tommy has to see him, he has to, and- and-

The sun is mercifully blocked by Tubbo's head, but the rays that peak out from around tufts of brown hair are nearly enough to make Tommy shut his eyes again. He keeps staring though, because Tubbo is staring back at him, and he looks absolutely _wrecked_ , as shattered as Tommy feels. His eyes are wide, there are tears down his face, and his bottom lip is trembling as he says-

"Oh, _Tommy_." And then he's crashing forward, into Tommy's chest and burying his face in his neck as he sobs, and Tommy can only bring up his hands to rub nimbly at his shoulders, gaze transfixed forward, because there is the sun, _the sun_ , something he was certain he was never going to see again, big and blinding and golden and beautiful and _too much_ , and that's what causes him to finally break, as the light washes over him and his face and the world and Tommy sobs, keens, and presses his face into his best friend's shoulder as he weeps, for the light and life and death and pain and _everything._

Tommy weeps.

\-----

He must have passed out at some point, because when Tommy awakes he's lying in a bed, one with sheets and blankets and pillows and comfort, and that nearly sets him off again because it is _soft_ , might be the softest thing he's ever felt and it surrounds him on all sides, and Tommy torn between the urge to push it away because he still raw and hypersensitive, and pulling it close around his entire being until it fuses with his bones and never leaves him.

Before it can even truly sink in, though, the door is cracking open, and someone is stepping in. Tommy doesn't see who, because he's already recoiling and shuddering into the sheets, no matter the fact that the person's steps are slow and soft, hesitant almost, because he's still weak and defenseless and there is no escape in this room, and he's being cornered and _no no no_ -

The footsteps stop a little ways away from the bed, and then there's another voice, this one feminine and tentative when it speaks, with something desperately fragile beneath the surface.

"Tommy?"

Puffy. It's Puffy. When Tommy brings himself to lift his head and peer out of wary eyes, she's standing there, looking like a deer in headlights, eyes the size of saucers and frozen in place. One hand is raised in uncertainty, and if Tommy looks close he can see it trembling.

"Puffy?" He whispers, hoarse, disbelieving, and that's what seems to shock Puffy out of her stupor, because she makes a choked noise before she starts forward again, mouth curving into a small, watery smile as she obviously intends to go in for the hug like Tubbo did. Tommy pulls back again, violently this time, and distantly he can register that she's stopped, looking stricken.

Guilt churns in Tommy's gut, but he doesn't voice it, because what can you say to someone who thought you were dead, only for you to plummet back in their lives as a person they barely recognize? He certainly doesn't know, so instead he asks, "Where am I?"

Puffy breathes, looking strangely sad but not surprised at the quick change in subject. "I… Snowchester. You fainted after leaving the prison, and nobody wanted to leave you alone, so this was the easiest place everyone could gather that was out of the way."

"Oh," he replies, trying to process the fact that Puffy said people, meaning there was a crowd who gathered to see him ( _who cared?_ ). "Who all… is here, right now?"

"Tubbo, Ranboo, Sam, and Eret." She lists. She glances towards the door, then back him, unsure. Now that Tommy thinks about, he can hear the faint din of conversation downstairs, gods everything is so _loud_.

"Do you… I can tell them you're awake, if you want to talk to them? Or if you want some food, or anything."

Tommy swallows, and thinks about all those people, in the same room all at once, talking and existing and being near him, and feels sick to his stomach. But he does want to see them eventually, so…

"You can- you can tell them I'm awake. But- tell them not to come up here? O-or at least one at a time? And- and some food would be nice." He says, stuttering and lame. He rubs at his wrists, just for something to feel.

Puffy nods, looking more firm now that she has something to do. "Okay. I'll do that. Be back in a sec, just yell if you need anything."

She turns towards the door, wraps her hand around the knob- then hesitates, looking back at Tommy with something gentle in her eyes.

"Tommy, I- are you… how are you holding up? Sam- he told us, about what happened in the cell, and I…" Her shoulders are hunched and her face is lined in something like fear, like she hates to ask Tommy this and is just barely holding herself together for an answer. "Are you okay?"

Tommy wants to answer her, wants to comfort her, to let her know that he's fine, she doesn't need to worry or blame herself for some imagined failure. But he can't, because his chest is constricting, he isn't fine, he's fighting off another meltdown at the reminder of what happened in that _fucking_ prison, and _he's not fine._

"I…" Pause, breathe, collect yourself. "I'd be a lot better if I got some fucking food." It's a piss poor joke and they both know it, but it's all Tommy can think to say. 

Puffy breaks eye contact, taking a shaky breath of her own looking crestfallen as she does. "Okay." She whispers, small and weak.

And then she's gone.

( _Tommy doesn't mention how he can hear her collapse against the door immediately afterwards, muffling sobs into her sleeve._ )

\-----

As it turns out, the food does not make Tommy better, considering he throws it up not thirty minutes later. He's disappointed, but bitterly unsurprised.

In hindsight, that should have been a premonition of things to come. Tommy spends four days in bed because walking is a hassle, and when he gets out there is someone almost constantly at his side, prepped to catch him or calm him down when being newly-alive gets too much. Tommy isn't sure how he feels about it.

Still, they do the best they can. He makes stilted conversation with Eret and Ranboo, does his best to implement the grounding techniques Puffy showed him, avoids Sam's guilt-ridden gaze and sits in silence with Tubbo, no words passing between them, their clasped hands the only reassurance they need. At one point, he even stands outside for a total of five minutes before getting overwhelmed.

( _Tommy is informed it has been two weeks between his death and his retrieval. He finds it hard to believe, because the nothingness and terror of the Afterlife certainly felt like more than two weeks, but he's also not exactly in the most stable of mind to contradict them_.)

It's hard, readjusting. Tommy's breath gets shaky whenever things are a little too loud, or someone moves too suddenly, or he's alone for more than a few minutes. He carries around rocks and books and water and blankets and rubs his hands over them ceaselessly, marveling at the sensation. Sometimes he'll catch the others ( _Tubbo, Ranboo, and Sam especially_ ) just _looking_ at him, like they have to verify he's actually there. There was one extremely startling occasion where Tubbo burst in his room in the middle of the night, a panicking mess, because he dreamt that Tommy was still dead.

( _Tommy doesn't blame him. Sometimes he dreams that, too. Wakes up screaming about void and absence and ghosts of brothers more times than he can count. He sleeps with a lantern because the darkness of the bedroom reminds him too much of the emptiness he sees when he closes his eyes._

 _Sometimes he stares in the mirror, at the once-blue irises that have turned a sickening, dead black, still yet to recover, and wonders if there's something empty inside him, too_.)

It's on one of the better days that he stands on the porch of Tubbo's house, a mug of untouched tea in his hands. The sun has yet to fully rise, just paints the eastern sky in soft greys and pinks and glints off the icy ocean. Animals chitter faintly in the background. The tea is warm. It's peaceful.

Tommy stands on the porch, and ponders about what comes after death.

It's strange, having life shoved back into you by the one who took in the first place. It's strange for Tommy, learning how to feel things such as light and earth and breath and emotion after ( _months? years? eternities?)_ weeks of nothing but dark and void and _terrorterrorterror._ When people wonder about life after death, they probably don't mean it so _literally_.

He's snapped out of his reverie by the creaking of the door behind him, and Tubbo steps out, bleary-eyed and hair still a fluffy, sleep-mussed mess. He has a mug of his own in hand.

"Morning," Tommy says quietly.

Tubbo yawns, take a sip of his tea. "Morning," he mumbles.

They don't say anything for a while, just watch the sun rise. It's familiar.

"You're up early." Tubbo says. Not a judgement, or an accusation, just a statement of fact.

"Yeah," Tommy replies as he finally takes a sip of his tea. It's warm and spicy as it goes down. "Just kind of- you know. Feeling. Existing."

"Right." Tubbo says, like he understands. Perhaps he does.

Tommy breathes in the fresh, wintery air ( _something that is still so new, so precious_ ) and thinks, _this is what comes after life and death_.

He will do his best to welcome it, he decides.

\-----

After a few more days, when the outside world ( _mostly_ ) no longer a massive trigger for him, Ranboo takes Tommy on a tour around the server.

( _"There's are some things you should see." He said as he passed Tommy a hoodie to hide his face. They were still trying to keep his return on the down low._

_"Why? It's nothing I haven't seen before." Tommy scoffs, but he shrugs it on all the same._

_Ranboo fixes him with a look. His face is unreadable, somewhere between frustrated and pained. "There’s something you need to see." He repeats._ )

He sees what Ranboo meant soon enough. 

Looking at the memorials and statues with his face is… an odd experience. Both because he's never liked being the center of so much attention - he never wanted to be a martyr - and because it makes _something_ twist in his chest, the proof that he wasn't forgotten, that people cared.

( _Even if it was too late._ )

They're standing at the base of the statue, and Ranboo has his tail wrapped loosely around Tommy's wrist. It's a comforting pressure, and one that's needed because he is getting dangerously close to choking up, tears sharp and salty behind his eyes, so he wipes at them viscously and says-

"Damn, those are ugly as fuck. They could've at least _tried_ to make it look like me."

It's an easy habit, deflecting with laughter and then calling it confidence. Ranboo looks at him with sad, understanding eyes.

"There's more," he says, gently pulling them along, and Tommy really wants to tell him to stop, that he doesn't need to see this, he doesn't need to throw a little pity party for himself, but his voice still won't obey him and he doesn't want to pull away from Ranboo quite yet, so instead he keeps quiet and walks behind him, waiting with both curiosity and apprehension.

They're nearly at the end of the Prime Path when Tommy sees their next stop, and when he does his heart rate spikes. His hotel is the same as he left it, but what really catches his eye is the figure waiting by the gates.

"Sam Nook," he breathes, and then he's tearing away from Ranboo and sprinting the rest of the distance. He's more than aware of how ridiculous this must look, like a child gushing over their favorite toy, but to be honest Tommy doesn't fucking care as he collides into the robot with a disbelieving laugh that may be just on this side of hysterical.

When he pulls away, he swears he can see his hotel co-manager almost physically light up with could have been excitement. Not a moment later, the familiar chirps fill the air as the words pop into Tommy's communicator.

**_Hello, Tommy! My, it's been a long time since I saw you around! I was afraid something had happened to you, but I kept the hotel in good shape because I knew you'd be back!_ **

Oh, and if _that_ isn't a direct assault on Tommy's emotions, then he doesn't know what is. It takes an embarrassing amount of effort to keep his voice level as he replies, "Ye-yeah, yeah, it has been a long time, Sam Nook."

Ranboo's voice comes from over his shoulder, like some sort of completely unnecessary narrator. "He waited for you. The whole time. Even when we told him you were dead, he still waited."

 _Really not helping, Ranboo_.

Tommy doesn't deign that with a response because if he does, then he _will_ cry and he's not sure he'll be able to stop. So instead, he just asks Sam Nook what he's been up to and to show him around the hotel, and they spend the next hour laughing and running through the hallways and not giving a damn about anything other than being stupid and young and _alive_.

( _Tommy thinks he might be starting to finally feel it again_.)

"One last thing," Ranboo tells him, and Tommy rolls his eyes and complains about him being a cryptic little fuck. Ranboo rolls his eyes right back and says that this one is important.

When they crest the rise of the hill that Tommy knows his house sits on, he doesn't think anything of it - until he sees what's sitting in front of it.

And that's- that's what finally breaks him.

"Fl-flowers," Tommy gasps as he sinks to knees and hugs himself, tears falling freely into the soil. "You- you planted _flowers_."

He doesn't know why it's this gesture that means so much. Flowers on a grave are such a simple thing, so widespread it's nearly been robbed of any true sentiment, but- but-

( _But maybe it's the fact someone made the gesture at all. Maybe it's the fact they took the time to kneel down in the dirt and dig it up and coat their hands in it just to plant a few flowers. Maybe it's just the raw display of life after what feels like lifetimes of loss and death._ )

Ranboo kneels down beside him, wrapping his arm around his shoulders and pulling him close. There is a faint _hiss_ in the air that tells Tommy he's crying, too. 

"We didn't just lose you, Tommy." He says, achingly sad and emphatic. "We _loved_ you. You weren't just missed, weren't just grieved. You were _loved_."

There's something in his hand, Tommy realizes. Ranboo had grabbed his in the midst of all his sobbing and pressed something into. Through blurry vision, Tommy looks at it, and cries anew when he comprehends what he's seeing.

 _Allium._ Unity, prosperity, humility, patience.

( _"Here, Tommy, have a flower!"_ )

"You were loved." Ranboo whispers. "You were always loved."

They stay like that for a while.

\-----

Nobody knows what comes after death. Not even Tommy, and he's seen it firsthand.

But here's what he experienced so far.

_Life after death is sitting with your best friend and listening to music discs when neither of you can sleep._

_Life after death is dreaming of shredding and black and nightmares locked away, only to wake up to warmth and comfort and wholeness._

_Life after death is planting an allium in your windowsill and diligently watering it day after day._

_Life after death is feeling yourself slipping away, and being brought back down by the ones who make you real._

_Life after death is hard. But it is still life._


End file.
